


untitled christmas fluff

by theaeblackthorn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, minor drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 07:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaeblackthorn/pseuds/theaeblackthorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s got the turkey, the sprouts, the potatoes, the gravy. Oh god, where are the carrots? “Derek, did you—” </p>
<p>"The carrots are in the bottom drawer," Derek says from directly behind him. "And Erica and Boyd will be over at one o’clock on the dot."</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled christmas fluff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tempe_harding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempe_harding/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, tempe-harding!
> 
> Written for stereksecretsanta.
> 
> Thanks to vampthenewblack for the beta, and squeeeful for last minute characterisation help!

"Dad! What time did you tell Melissa to get here?" Stiles opens the fridge door, eyes running over the items there, checking there’s nothing missing. 

"One o’clock, kid. Just as instructed," his dad calls from the living room. 

Excellent. It’s not that this is important, except it is because it’s the first time Stiles is properly in charge of Christmas. Melissa has had a small one for Scott, Allison, and Chris the last few years, and Stiles has handled his dad and Derek. But this year they’re actually trying for a big family Christmas, the kind Stiles hasn’t had since his mom was alive, the kind Derek hasn’t had since the fire everything needs to be perfect. 

He’s got the turkey, the sprouts, the potatoes, the gravy. Oh god, where are the carrots? “Derek, did you—” 

"The carrots are in the bottom drawer," Derek says from directly behind him. "And Erica and Boyd will be over at one o’clock on the dot."

Stiles spins around, hand clutched to his chest. “We talked about this! You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

 

A hint of a frown crosses Derek’s face as he moves toward Stiles. “You’re not going anywhere soon. Your heart is fine.” 

Derek worries too much. “I know, I know, it was just a turn of phrase.” He lets go of the fridge to slip his arms around Derek’s waist, resting them there. “Erica—”

"Erica and Boyd will be here on time, as will everyone else. You have everything you need and tomorrow will be perfect. Come sit down, watch some TV, relax." Derek’s arms wrap around him, pull him close. 

Stiles drops his head onto Derek’s shoulder, breathes in the smell of a hard day’s work. “I need tomorrow to go right. It’s important,” he whispers into Derek’s shirt, the beige of the Beacon Hill’s Police Department filling his vision. 

"And it will be. C’mon, before your dad puts CSI: Miami on again; I hate Horatio." 

Derek pulls away, and Stiles lets him go, tilts his face up for the kiss he knows is coming. They’ve been together since he was nineteen, and he may only be twenty-two now, but he knows what he wants. He wants this, he wants Derek curled up next to him on the sofa, he wants his dad half asleep in the living room after a long shift. He wants to scold them both for talking shop, he wants a full table for Christmas, he wants a loud house filled with people that matter to him.

The slight rasp of Derek’s stubble catches his cheek as he pulls away. He shaves every morning now, but it’s almost time for bed, and his facial hair grows stupidly quickly. Stiles steals one last look at the fridge as Derek takes his hand and leads him to the living room. 

"It needs to be perfect," Stiles mutters to himself. 

"It will be," Derek tells him..

* 

Stiles is half asleep against Derek when two cells phones start ringing at the exact same moment. Cold fear coils in his gut as his dad pulls out his phone. They wouldn’t call them both in unless something terrible had happened. 

Derek’s tense beneath him, the chest he’d been dozing on now thrumming with worry. “It’s Christmas Eve!” Stiles bitches, pushing himself up. He hates how childish he sounds, but it needs to be perfect. Everything needs to be perfect. Them getting called out all night will not make it perfect. 

"Crime doesn’t stop just because it’s Christmas, kiddo," his dad says, pulling himself up with a grunt and a stretch. They’d all almost been asleep. "There’s been a shoot out up by the old industrial plant, and they’ve got three suspects on the run." 

Shoot outs are bad, that means there are people out there with guns and they’re desperate. Stiles doesn’t believe in coincidences, he doesn’t believe that ‘accidents happen’, not unless someone can prove it to him. Being suspicious has kept him alive so far, and even if things have been quiet for almost a year, Stiles doesn’t trust it. In his head guns still mean hunters. 

"I need to get my uniform on, you okay to get the guns from the study?" His dad asks.

Derek’s carefully untangling himself from Stiles and nodding. Derek’s still got most of his uniform on, and the guns are kept in the safe when they’re at home.

"You can’t both go out there!" Stiles says, scrabbling to his feet. "It’s Christmas Eve, and neither of you are on call."

His dad pauses by the door, pained expression on his face. They’ve had this conversation more than once, but it’s never been Christmas before, it’s just been late-night emergency calls, because Stiles only has his dad, okay? He can’t lose him too. But his dad isn’t looking at him, he’s looking right over his shoulder at Derek. 

"I’ve got it," Derek says, standing up now and buttoning his shirt up.

That makes him angry and Stiles rounds on him. He’s not a thing to be handled. “They can’t need both of you, there are plenty of other officers.” 

Eyebrows drawn in and mouth tight, Derek looks pained. It makes Stiles feel like a bit of a dick, but it’s Christmas Eve, it’s a really bad situation, the kind of shit they barely see once a year in this area. His dad isn’t bullet-proof, Derek isn’t if they’re wolfsbane bullets. 

"Stiles, this is our job, and people could get hurt if we don’t go out there."

"I know." But both of them? How is that fair?

"There are officers with little kids who are probably being dragged away from them tonight, wouldn’t you rather we were out there than them?" Derek tries to grab hold of Stiles’ arm, but he shrugs him off, steps away. 

"You two are all I’ve got, Derek." Because this is it, they’re it for him, they’re all of his family. 

"And out there we can keep each other safe. We’re the best people for this, Stiles, it’s why we’re being called in." Derek’s eyes are pleading with him to understand. "We do this job to keep people safe, and people need us. We can’t just let them down because you’re worried about us."

That hurts, but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care if it’s selfish. But it’s not, he’s had dad, or Derek go out on calls before. It’s just Christmas, and it just feels so unfair for both of them to be out. He can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound bratty, or entitled. So he doesn’t say anything. 

"Stiles, please. It’s my job. It’s what I do, I protect people.” 

"I’m sorry," he says, voice small. Derek’s gone blurry because there are tears in his eyes. It was bad enough on a normal night, when his dad got called out, traffic pile ups were enough to give him panic attacks. He’s past that, but he was trying so hard to make Christmas perfect, and there’s going to be nothing to distract him from the thought of them out there.

"Stiles," Derek pleads. 

"I’m sorry," he repeats. He’s so fucking angry with himself, with the world, he shouldn’t have made this a Thing. He should have smiled, and told them he’d see them soon, and kept it all inside. There’s nothing worse than Derek head out when he’s upset, distracted; that’s when bad things happen. 

He opens his arms, lets Derek hug him. “I want to be selfish.” His words are muffled in Derek’s shirt as he brings his arms up to draw Derek tight. “But I know you can’t, it’s not who either of you are. Sorry for making this shittier than it already was.” 

Derek shushes him. “I understand, believe me I do. I want nothing more than to stay on this sofa with you, but I’ve got a job to do. We’ll be back as soon as we can, everything will be fine, and we’ll be here for Christmas day.” 

Derek’s phone is buzzing like crazy in his pocket, messages coming in.

"I got the guns," his dad says, from the doorway.

Stiles won’t let go of Derek, this could be the last time he gets to hold Derek, the last time he gets to feel Derek’s solid weight against him, the last time… 

"Son, do you want me to call Scott?" 

That makes him let go, he’s twenty-two, he doesn’t need his best friend over just because his dad and boyfriend have to do their jobs. He’s not a kid. 

Derek looks fucking wrecked when he lets go, and Stiles feels like a total shit, but there’s still that bitterness at the situation, at them having to go out there together, on a night like tonight. 

"Be safe," Stiles says, throwing his arms around his dad. 

"We will." His dad ruffles his hair, and lets go. "Don’t stay up for us, but we’ll be back as soon as we can."

And like that they’re gone, he won’t watch them drive away because he won’t. 

* 

Sleeping is a stupid idea, Stiles knows he won’t be able to do it. He thinks about texting Scott, checking how he is, seeing if his mom’s been pulled in too. The text he sends to Chris Argent gets a response straight away, even though it’s now past midnight. There’s no hunters, nothing supernatural that he’s aware of.

So Stiles tortures himself; he turns on the news. Yeah, fucking great idea Stilinski, just perfect. If it’s small enough not to need footage, he tells himself, then it’ll be fine, they’ll be okay. (But they won’t, because it doesn’t have to be some grand event for someone to die, it doesn’t have to be some dramatic moment, people can die during the most everyday stupid things, and it makes Stiles’ chest hurt thinking about that.)

There is news coverage, only on the radio first, and then picked up by the TV stations. There’s warnings about people staying in their houses, and there are helicopter shots of people running over warehouse roofs. This is Beacon Hills, this isn’t LA, why the fuck is this happening? 

He catches a glimpse of Derek, only recognisable by the eye-flare on the camera. He must be stressed if he can’t keep that in check. Stiles should turn it off, there’s every chance he might accidentally watch Derek or his dad die, and that thought makes his heart clench painfully. 

He turns the TV over, switches to some stupid Christmas movie that he can’t even really see. He flicks back to the news channel so often that his hand feels cold and empty when he puts it down to pull out his phone. 

No texts. No news. Probably because they’re in a fucking shoot out. 

*

"Stiles…" Hot breath ghosts over his cheek, and Stiles is jerking up and awake in an instant. 

"Derek!" He looks exhausted as fuck, muddy and alive. Derek’s kneeling down next to the sofa, so his face is level with Stiles’ and there’s a grin spread over it.

He reaches out, needs to touch Derek to confirm he’s real. 

"You’re okay." There are no marks, no bloodstains, Derek looks sleepy but fine. The room is bright with light that says it’s late in the day. Derek’s here, but… Where’s his dad?

Stiles jumps up, nearly hits Derek. “Where’s dad?!” 

If something happened to him, he couldn’t, Derek couldn’t, they— He gulps a breath, searching around the room for his dad. 

"Calm, calm," Derek soothes, catching Stiles and holding him tight. "He’s just putting the guns away, we’re both here, we’re both fine, everyone’s arrested and no one’s injured. Except a few gunmen who should have known better than to mess with BHPD." 

As if on cue his dad walks in, he’s not as dirty as Derek, but his uniform is wrinkled, and there are dark circles under his eyes. Stiles wriggles out of Derek’s hold, and into his dad’s. “You’re okay.”

"Yeah, your old man’s still here and not going anywhere anytime soon, don’t you worry. But Jesus, kid, you’re getting strong, let me go before you crush a rib!" 

Stiles loosens his hold, but he doesn’t let go. His dad’s broad hand comes up, cradles his head, and he’s back to being nine years old and waking up to his dad coming in off a shift. The smell of the cold outdoors is still on him, fresh and chilly. 

"Shh, kiddo, it’s okay, we’re here." 

There’s another warm arm curling itself around his back, and then Derek’s there, joining in on the hug. They stand there long enough for Stiles’ breathing to calm down, for the ball of worry in his gut to loosen. It’s when he notices that his dad is swaying a little on his feet. 

And the level of light in the room. 

"Shit!" He pulls back, nearly knocking Derek over. "What time is it?"

His dad chuckles, Derek snorts, fond amusement in both. “It’s a little after eight,” Derek tells him, standing back just in time to avoid one of Stiles’ flailing hands. 

"Oh my god! People will be here in less than four hours! I need to get the turkey in! I need to get the—" He gets a good look at Derek and his dad. "You two need to sleep! I need you awake later, oh god."

"You sure you don’t want to do presents now?" his dad asks, already heading toward the stairs. "I know we normally do them first thing…" He yawns mid-sentence, every footstep looks like it costs him an age. 

"No, I can wait, you two need sleep more. What time do you want me to wake you?" 

"It doesn’t matter, I’ll just nap in the armchair as soon as I’ve eaten anyway." 

Stiles rolls his eyes, but it’s true, his dad falls asleep after dinner every year, no matter what time he gets up. 

"Sleep well," he tells him, as his dad starts walking up the stairs. 

Then it’s just him and Derek, and he can be as inappropriate as he wants. “I’m sorry,” is what Stiles chooses to say. “For before.”

"It’s already forgiven." They stare at each other for a moment, Stiles thinking about how lucky he is to have someone who gets him, someone who can put up with all of his shit. He knows he isn’t the easiest person to love, he has some really shitty personality quirks, and sometimes he’s real hard work. 

Derek is kind, Derek is clever, Derek cares. Derek would do anything for the people he loves. 

"I love you, y’know," Stiles says, pulling Derek in once more. 

"Yeah," Derek replies, chest rumbling against Stiles’. "I love you, too." 

*

end

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me over at saspiesas.tumblr.com, Merry Christmas!


End file.
